A/N This was not originally a Torchwood story and had nothing to do with Janto which is why its so AU and probably out of character. I've tweaked it a bit though so i hope you like it, any questions ask me :]

WARNING: SWEARING THROUGHOUT

As I staggered up the never ending stairs after another god awful night on the streets of lousy Edinburgh- for the capital we really are bloody boring- I began to wonder if the reason I was always home alone was because I was looking in the wrong place.

Jack would always get someone, weather a plastic short-skirted blonde or a bobbed dressy brunette, he had whoever took his fancy whereas I always landed myself with nothing- surely you can understand why Jack would be my idol.

He even gets called 'The Captian'- he's a lucky bastard.

This was why, while I pushed away the temptation to throw up my alcohol filled stomach on Saffron's door, I decided I was either too picky to get laid or gay. I know not if it was because I was under the influence of alcohol or the aurora of prophecy's and magic that surrounded Saffron and her flat that caused this thought to strike me but it did and it scared me enough to make me fumble my way to the flat and puke myself into oblivion.

At 4 am I heard the sounds of The Captain calling from outside- banging on the door too. I hauled myself from the cool, tiled floor, attempted to wipe some sick from my face and prayed to god that one day soon Jack would remember his keys. He never would but I live in hope.

I let Jack through only to regret it: I was met with his 'lets-go-get-rat-arsed-again' face.

"No." I groan- he's done this too many times before.

He only pouted in response; I wearily countered him raising my eyebrow, if he really thought I was going out again he was sorely mistaken. My head was thumping and this would only be more painful after vodka and cocktails god alone knew the ingredients of.

I tried walking away from him back to the floor but he grabbed my wrist and spun me grinning wickedly as I spluttered a moan of protest too shattered to really fight him; I was dragged across the room like a submissive ceilidh dancer. Had it been anyone else I would have thrown up on them but it was Jack and he was warm, soft but strong, wore aftershave even I couldn't resist (though he claimed it was just him) and currently the only thing holding me upright. I began to relax in his arms my head dulling as we slowed to a weird sway, dancing with Jack- why wasn't this awkward? My mind was racing but I ignored my brain and quickly turned to peaceful mush only to be disrupted by the man in question barking a loud and drunken laugh in my ear.

"Yan- you're falling asleep on me! Gerroff!"

I grumbled some slurred words before he laughed again and the world began to spin, I squeezed my lids shut daring the fireworks beneath my eyes to fizzle away. When re-opened them warmth had engulfed me: I was in Jack's bed with two choices- insist upon my own or sleep? Defiantly sleep.

Then I realised Jack was getting undressed…And climbing in the bed. I kicked around a bit hoping he'd get the message but all he did was mutter a small, "Fuck off, Ianto." And loosely spooned against me. Surprisingly it wasn't uncomfortable so I fell asleep, cosy, in his bed… I could deal with the shit tomorrow.

Jack was singing. That was what I woke up too, Christmas songs to be precise, in fact, it was East 17, bloody Take That's rivals … Apparently.

With my ears covered in pillow I groaned trying to block it out. Quickly giving up I wondered why I'd even bothered- covering you ears only ever works in film or TV.

"Jack, shut up!"

"No way I-"

"It's closer Easter than Christmas!" I swung my legs out of bed and rubbed my eyes.

He shrugged leaning on the door frame munching on toast, "'s close enough," he mumbled crumbles tumbling from his mouth, "an' you, get outta my bed!"

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around taking in my surroundings- how had I not noticed this? And what the heck was I doing in Jack's bed? My eyes nearly popped out of my skull when the first possibility came to me- shit. I couldn't remember a thing- what happened? How much did I drink?Why am I in Jack's bed? Why am I in Jack's bed? WHY AM I IN JACK'S BED?

He seemed to notice my panic and laughed, "Just budge, Yan."

A sigh of relief flew from my mouth- we couldn't have done anything. I sat smiling at this new information for a while until Jack finished his toast and spoke again.

"Seriously, shift it, I need to dress." He dusted his hands on his bare chest before realising he wasn't wearing a shirt which lead me to realise he was only wearing boxers.

It wasn't that I'd never seen him change or wear shorts- Christ I'd seen naked- but we'd slept in the same bed. I'd spent the night in his bed which for me was…Intimate. Making it weird to see him in boxers; I awkwardly looked away.

"You threw up then?" Jack called rhetorically having moved to the bathroom.

"Did I? Bugger, what were we drinking?"

His head appeared in the door way, eyes sparkling, grinning cheekily and waggling his eyebrows he replied, "Lots!" before he was gone, "Ianto, where's the soap, no, not soap, um, you know… Cleaning stuff?"

"Didn't your Mam teach you anything?"

"She was the cleaner- not me!"

I huffed getting fully out of bed and stretching slightly, "Jack?" there was a grunt of 'yes', "What was I doing in your bed?"

He appeared in the doorway again, "Can you honestly not remember? Ah, well, I came home, you we're pissed and I guess it just happened… Felt like the right thing to do at the time. I came back from… I think her name was Iris or Eileen or something, maybe it was a he- could've been an Iain? Not sure, anyway came home real early and you didn't wanna go out? You were knackered? Ringing any bells? Nope? When I gave up you we're half passed out so I took you to bed, I was going to put you in your room but it was kind of, oh what's the word? Pukey.."

"Shit," I cursed, "is it on the carpet?"

"Yep. You need to learn to handle more drink, here, I'll teach you tonight!"

"Just because you could drink the world and not have even the slightest of headaches." I muttered darkly, "What day is it?"

"Sunday, 'round 2 o'clock." He answered.

"Ahh fudge, we have that essay on modern day media adaptions compared to whatever else he was on about due tomorrow."

"Meh," Jack sighed, "only 25 pages, I'll do it tonight."

"Yeah, I'll panic later," I lied; I was already panicking.

Moments like these are perfect examples of why sometimes I bloody hate Jack Harkness - he won't start this till 2am and he will still pass, on the other hand I am working my arse off to scrape for a pass and panicking enough to bring on an early heart-attack.

I wandered to my small and simple, red and cream room from Jack's messy blue and instantly the smell hit me- vomit. I striped my clothes walking to the window for a peek outside- it was sunny so I decided to go for a long run and think about how in hell I was going to do this essay.

I grabbed my green top and black shorts pulling them on over clean underwear, shoving on socks and shoes, calling a goodbye to Jack who mumbled though another mouthful of another piece of toast.

As soon as I was out the flat I felt better, passing Saffron I smiled and tried to ignore her growingly unusual dress sense, I jumped the last few steps out on to the busy street and began a steady jog clearing my head before going into a full sprint as always.

A/N Tell me what you think please? Should i continue? Do you think this could be interesting? Thank you all!